


Round Two

by williamastankova



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Again, Awkward Kissing, Blow Jobs, Bottom Hannibal Lecter, Bottom Will, Bottom Will Graham, Bukakke, Caring Hannibal Lecter, First Kiss, Hallucinations, Kissing, M/M, Neck Kissing, Oral Sex, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Hannibal Lecter, Protective Hannibal Lecter, Switch Hannibal Lecter, Switch Will Graham, Switching, Top Hannibal Lecter, Top Will, Top Will Graham, Will Graham Has Encephalitis, at first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 22:25:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/williamastankova/pseuds/williamastankova
Summary: Will's struggling with more hallucinations. Only this time, he's got a different focus: Hannibal Lecter, and sex.(aka Hannibal is saying normal things, but they all sound dirty to Will's filthy, filthy mind, and he has sex hallucinations about them.)





	Round Two

Will's always been... difficult. His life was never _easy_ , then again he didn't even know what that meant. In recent years, it'd simultaneously gotten much better and much worse. For the former, he'd met many new people, tried many new things, and even secured himself a therapist who didn't immediately shut down any issues he'd been having. Then again, on the downside, he'd also become a murderer, and befriended a serial killer, and now - on top of it all - had begun having more hallucinations.

The last time, he'd kept seeing Garrett Jacob Hobbs. Everywhere he went, he was reminded by his own mind that he was a killer, who'd ended more than one life and orphaned an innocent girl, consequently ruining her life and any chance she had to be normal. This, however, had finally left him, and he'd begun to suspect life was letting him off the hook: how wrong he was.

If he thought back, he supposed it started in about May. The first time, he and Hannibal had been in therapy, and Will had been having some issues with sleeping, and relaxing in general. He'd tried a few methods on his own, in the hopes he could cure himself, but to no avail. And so, here he was, laying down on Hannibal's sofa, with the doctor lingering around his head and telling him what was going to happen, so he knew exactly what to expect. Then, he said it. He said it, and it happened.

"If you change your mind, just tell me when to stop."

He obviously hadn't said it meaning it how Will's subconscious had taken it, but once the words were out of his mouth, Will was thrown into a vivid... he didn't know what to call it. It wasn't real, he knew for sure, but the sensations and images that filled his mind felt all too real. Not that he wanted to relive the experience, not at all, but he'd figured later on it was best to remember what had happened, so perhaps he could try to decipher a deeper meaning:

He was no longer on the couch, but rather Hannibal's bed. It was a strange location to imagine, seeing as he'd only seen it once and briefly, but he recognised it instantly. He had his legs spread apart - not so far like he was a starfish or otherwise a jealous hog of space, but more so he felt completely at ease and relaxed. His arms rested at his sides, and a familiar voice spoke once more to the side of him, repeating words he had heard not so long ago.

"If you change your mind, just tell me when to stop."

Casting a look over his shoulder, to the left of him, he caught sight of Hannibal, clad in little more than underwear, watching him. Then, he began moving, reaching into a drawer Will couldn't see into, and he pulled out a bottle. Now, even if Will was too far away and at an angle too awkward to read the label, he wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what it was, and when Hannibal moved to the end of the bed and settled between his bare legs, he knew what was coming.

He didn't writhe, didn't fight, because there was no urge within him to do so. He just let himself be touched by Hannibal, whose hands roamed all across his naked skin in a way Will might have called possessive. Much like an animal, marking its territory, he finally seemed content that his scent was everywhere - god, _everywhere_  - and he popped the lid of the bottle, and leaned in closer to him, and then-

Then it ended. He was suddenly thrown back into the laying position, on Hannibal's sofa. He jumped up, startled, like he'd had an out of body experience, and flung up, sitting and heaving out breaths before he realised Hannibal was beside him, seeming worried and running his hands across his back, and no, that wasn't good, that _really_  wasn't good.

Will assured him he was feeling better and, upon learning he'd actually dropped off for a minute or two, decided maybe the experience wasn't so wasted after all. In fact, in the privacy of his own home in his own time, when he found it hard to sleep, Will shut his eyes and returned to that bedroom, with that bottle and Doctor Lecter, possessive over him and proud to be the one between his legs.

If it helped him sleep, surely it couldn't have been bad... right?

**

The next time it happened was about a week and a half after the first. Once more, they were in Hannibal's office, but this time not for a scheduled therapy session. They were simply sat across from each other, in their respective seats, and they were talking about a variety of different things, but one in particular: namely, the most recent case which had been boxed off.

"Jack said he thinks he's getting somewhere with the report he's having to file about it," Will stated, and went on, "Alana said the killer can't stop confessing. It's an amazingly easy time for her."

Hannibal seemed bemused, and he nodded along. "Yes, of course. As a psychiatrist, it is nice when a patient opens up to you completely."

Will quirked an eyebrow and tilted his head, "Was that a dig, Doctor?"

"Not at all, Will," Hannibal's tone was somewhere illustrious, between sincere and comically feigned, "But, if you believe it to be so, you should know: I'm your personal canvas, you may talk at me any time you like."

Feeling as though he was thrown back into his seat, Will only heard himself inhale sharply before he was on the other side of the room, and Hannibal was crouched, kneeling before him. He still wore the charcoal suit he had been just seconds prior, but his hair looked more messy, as the layers fell before his eyes. The dark brown of them was watered over, glassy, and it took Will a moment to gauge what was happening, and then it was completely unavoidable.

He was against the wall, his back flush against the neatly painted surface, and his breathing was laboured. He had apparently had his glasses on beforehand, but they'd been lost in the middle of the room for a reason he couldn't recall. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, which was unusual as he normally liked looking more than half dressed. Oh, and more importantly, Hannibal's mouth was wrapped around his cock.

That, he joined the dots, was likely why his eyes were watering so much. He'd enveloped more than half of it, and was sitting still, adjusting to the size, trying not to die the most embarrassing death of all. Will, now being much more clued into what was happening to him, released a moan that was trapped in his throat, and threaded his hand through Hannibal's chopped hair. He felt... powerful. He felt like he'd never felt before.

When Hannibal began to move, however, he was jelly. He couldn't believe how immensely he felt everything, and the intensity of the wave that hit him when Hannibal swallowed jerkily around him was tidal. Tsunami-esque, even, and he wasn't ever one for dramatics where it was unneeded. This, he decided, was more than called for.

It didn't take him long to feel the release building. His groin tightened, and the gentle movement he'd begun with his hand, encouraging Hannibal's mouth to move with him, became erratic. He was desperate, and a whine erupted from his throat when Hannibal popped off of him, before he was done. However, when he smirked malevolently up at him, Will knew something better was coming, even if he couldn't have ever imagined what it was.

Hannibal's hand gripped his member firmly, and began a steady rhythm, twisting ever so slightly every three or so pumps. Will couldn't help but think this was better, having Hannibal working so hard to please him, to get him off, and it didn't take long at all for him to come, with the doctor beneath him purposefully aiming it at his own face. Then, having lost himself in the moment, Will was brought back to reality by the fantasy ending, with the four pretty little words which had started it:

"I'm your personal canvas."

When he came to, his eyes were squeezed tightly shut. Peeking out of one, he suddenly felt embarrassed, because he didn't know how much of himself he had let loose. He briefly wondered whether he had said anything aloud that might have indicated where he'd gone off to, but the shocked-panicked look on Hannibal's face implied he hadn't, and he let himself exhale a sigh of relief.

"Will? Will." Hannibal repeated, leaning over him and checking around his face, too close for comfort for Will, who couldn't forget what had just happened - or rather, what he alone had just experienced. His hand was planted firmly on the arm of the chair to Will's right, and he scoured for any physical signs to tell him what had just happened to his friend. To his dismay, Will simply brushed him off, once more assured him it was nothing, and that he had to go home now.

On his drive home, Will recalled what he had imagined. He silently wondered what it meant, but then, upon realising it probably wasn't too terribly difficult to do, made the conscious choice to stop, because he may not like what he'd have to admit to himself.

**

Eating at Hannibal's was always a delight. In the least cheap way he could make it sound, Will liked it most of all because it meant he didn't have to cook for himself. And, in his terms, 'cook' was used loosely: the most he'd ever really do when it was just him was an especially tasty egg dish, never more complex than a basic omelette. This was why, whenever Hannibal came calling, inviting him over for dinner, he agreed with no more than a second's thought.

Whatever dish they were having that night, Will couldn't remember. His brain had forgotten how to pronounce the ever-elegant French dish's name, but he remembered it was tasty. Actually, what he remembered most of all was Hannibal asking how the dish was, in four simple but ever-ambiguous words, or so his mind thought.

"How does it taste?"

It didn't even seem like there was a transitional period between them sitting at Hannibal's dining table, to them being in Will's house, with Hannibal on the side of his bed and him kneeling before him. It was, however, immediately apparent when the was hallucinating, because the words seemed distorted, and he was looking up at a completely naked Hannibal, as opposed to the fully-suited, well-presented one he had been.

"How does it taste?" He repeated - the mirage-Hannibal said - and looked expectantly at Will, his pupils blown, eyes smothered with lust. Will could feel his own cheeks blooming bright red, but he couldn't remember exactly why. He could have a few good guesses, though.

His mouth felt stuck closed, as he tried to respond. It hit him, and so he swallowed and, sure enough, he tasted salt running down his throat, and it burned him. Not the actual taste itself, but how he hadn't anticipated such a strong experience that evening. After all, the only thing he was told he'd be consuming was whatever French meal Hannibal had prepared for him, and the usual red wine.

Still in his trance, however, he nodded eagerly, planting his hands gently on the top of Hannibal's thighs, using the leverage he had to help him stand. His legs felt shaky, like he'd been kneeling for a long time and hadn't had the chance to move them, so they'd fallen dead. It was like static electricity was running through his veins, and he didn't mind one bit. Especially not when Hannibal grinned up at him, wrapped his arms firmly around his legs, and fell backwards, ending with them tangled in a heap, a mess. Will only snapped back to reality when their mouths were mere inches away from each other, so he missed the part he had been anticipating the most.

In the real world, he awoke with his head down, on Hannibal's table, and with his friend rushing about him, clearly as concerned as he had been the last times. He tried to sit up straight again, but was put back down by Hannibal, who scolded him and told him to stay and rest.

"Hannibal," he spoke, voice and mind surprisingly clear for a man who'd just blacked out, "Really, I'm fine. We can just finish eating, and I'll drive home-"  
"You've just collapsed at my dinner table, Will," Hannibal snapped back at him, and Will hoped he hadn't intended to sound so rude, or there'd be problems later on, once he was allowed to raise his head at more than a forty-five degree angle. "You're not going anywhere tonight."

Given what he'd just pictured happening, it was only natural for something instinctive in Will to kick in and begin his panicking. He instantly began spluttering, beginning a hundred sentences and finishing none, and eventually settling with the weak argument of, "You really don't have to."

"Yes, Will, I do." Hannibal shut him down in less than one proper sentence. "You'll stay here tonight, so I can monitor you. This has happened far too much; I have to know what's causing it."  
Will gulped. "As my psychiatrist or as my friend?" He prayed for the former, if either.

"Both."

That was the answer he didn't want to hear. This was, of course, because as a psychiatrist, it was his job to pry and investigate, and record any relevant information he managed to get out of Will. But then, as a friend, anything even close to the truth Will told him would undoubtedly upset him, or otherwise make him feel uncomfortable, and the worst part was it wasn't even Will's fault - not really, anyway. True, it was his mind, but it was his _subconscious_  mind, which meant he didn't have a say in what it thought.

Even still, he knew there was no chance of his escape from the situation, so he agreed solemnly and Hannibal delivered the news that he'd be staying in the guest room of his house.

 _Ah well_ , Will finally reconciled, _small miracles_.

**

That night, he avoided talking as much as possible, primarily because of basic human reasoning: you talk, the other person responds, and then (at least in his case) you have wild sexual fantasies about them, with no reasoning whatsoever. Hell, Will wasn't even aware he liked any of the stuff he'd thought about doing with Hannibal since the first episode, let alone he thought of _Hannibal_  like that. It really should have rattled him more than it did.

It was around ten, when Hannibal finally intruded on Will's room for the night and took a seat in the corner, while Will rested himself on the bed, privately drowning in wishes to disappear into thin air. He'd briefly considered asking to see Alana, so he could seek some sort of refuge from the losing battle he was fighting, and maybe he'd even get her advice on how to treat it, or at least clot the never ending flow.

Hannibal, at first, remained quiet. He studied Will, trying to sense anything off with him, but when he sniffed Will couldn't fight the urge to sit up and give him the bitchiest, most pissed off look he could muster.  
"Did you just smell me, again?"

He at least had the decency to look ashamed. Will could imagine seeing the cogs turning, as he tried to think of an excuse, or some clever comeback to detract from the awkwardness of being caught red-handed once more, doing something less than normal. He eventually stopped conjuring alibis, and apologised.  
"Do you want me to leave?"

Will should have said yes. Now, he had fair reason to, and he could come to Hannibal when he was feeling better and say he was just tired, or some other excuse for his mild rudeness, but he said nothing. Instead, he lay back down, trying to shield his eyes from the blaring light above him, and he only realised Hannibal was leaving of his own accord when the chair creaked and he spoke again:

"Do you want the lights off? It will help you relax more."

Oh no.  
A swirl of complete blackness took his vision, and they're on the bed again, only this time it's not his or Hannibal's private beds, but the one he'd been laying on before the transition. This was really going to make it difficult for him to sleep afterwards.

He's naked, now. He's sat up, a little hunched, looking at Hannibal, who's similarly undressed but stood by the light-switch. He watches Will intently, awaiting his response, and flicks the lights off when Will nods. Only in the dark does Will realise how truly sensual it feels, because he can barely hear Hannibal shuffling his way back over to him, and he only knows he's there when they bump, skin-on-skin, and he almost goes flying on top of him.

Feeling his way down to the bed, Hannibal lowers himself, resulting in a gentle creaking of the mattress, and fumbles his way over Will's body, settling eventually with a hand on his waist. Once Will's eyes adjust to the dark enough, he sees how Hannibal is looking at him, and he swallows his fear before reaching out a hand and brushing back the hair that's fallen into Hannibal's face.

It's emotional. Will'll grant it: this time it's got more feeling to it, as opposed to them just having sex for the hell of it. His subconscious is playing some sort of trick on him, he's sure of it, because it hasn't been like this before, and it shouldn't be like this. He tries to reason that maybe it's the scent of Hannibal's house that's making him feel more endeared this time around, but he can't bring his mind to reach a concrete conclusion when Hannibal leans forward and kisses him sweetly.

He's pretty sure if he were standing, his knees would buckle and he'd collapse right where he was. Thankfully, though, he's already half lying down, so it's easy enough for Hannibal to move them both, not having to break the contact points of their bodies, to a horizontal position on the bed, with Will beneath him. They kiss a moment longer, before Hannibal changes tactics and plants a soft trail of kisses all across Will's neck and down to his shoulders.

By the time Will's back in his own, actual body, he can feel the ghostly pattern across his chest, and this, he figures, is what helps him sleep. That, and the fact that Hannibal has left, and turned the lights off. He immerses fully into the hallucination-gone-dream, and before he knows it he's sleeping soundly, right beside Hannibal, with only a wall separating them.

**

The next morning, Hannibal doesn't make a great big crash as he enters his room and crosses it, taking his place in the same seat from the night before. He waits patiently until Will's eyes flutter open, and he takes in where he is, remembering where he is and why. Finally, his eyes settle on the figure in the corner of the room, sat, emanating peace, and he can't help but smile, for reasons Hannibal can't ever know.

"Good morning," his voice is even more gravelly in the mornings, Will now knows, and Hannibal continues on, "I was hoping we could have a chat, if you don't mind."

Dread wells up in Will, but he's desperate not to let it show. He nods, and sits up with his back against the wall. He prepares himself mentally for what's about to come, but still gestures for Hannibal to get on with it.  
"I want to talk about what's been happening to you."

Will's mouth goes dry. Despite knowing already what was coming, hearing the question makes him panic more than ever anticipated. He tries to formulate something coherent to say, but he can't. He opts to divert, slightly. "I want to talk to Alana about it."

"I'm your psychiatrist, Will, not her." Hannibal states, voice remaining calming. If only he knew. "I want you to talk to me; I can help you with whatever it is."

Will almost laughs, but then almost weeps. It's so true, yet couldn't be further from the truth. Yes, he could help, very literally speaking. Only, that'd never happen, which is precisely why Will doesn't want to talk to him about it. He'd rather talk to anybody - Jack Crawford, Mason Verger, _anybody else_  - about it than him. This, in itself, appears to give him away a little, because Hannibal's voice lowers as he asks another question.  
"Does it involve me?"

Quick flashbacks, best-bit-snippets, appear before Will's eyes, and he reverts to his old tick of being unable to maintain eye contact. He eyes the blanket piled on top of him instead, because it seems easier than admitting the truth. Once more, however, his lack of a response tells Hannibal all he needs to know. He stands, then takes his place at the foot of the bed, and Will just about has a heart attack as he yanks his feet out from under him.

"Will, if I may-" Hannibal goes to touch his face gently, all the while explaining, "You don't have to say anymore, but just let me see your face. How does that feel?"

Will feels the pressure on the side of his face, but nothing more. He shakes his head, feeling a little more relaxed with Hannibal's reassurance that he won't be made to tell him more than he's already deciphered, "It's fine. I mean, I don't feel anything. Why?"

"Yesterday," Hannibal recounts, not moving his hand, "when you fell, I was afraid you'd hit your head. I wanted to check you hadn't formed a bruise, or worse. But everything feels normal."

Nodding along, Will's face goes hot when he realises Hannibal still hasn't removed his hand, and is still padding the unshaven skin of his cheek with the tips of his three fingers. He moves to Will's jawline, and runs his nails along it. Will manages to fight off the urge to shudder, and finally Hannibal's hand is gone from his face. Some part of him feels disappointed, and when Hannibal stands to leave, presumably to make breakfast, Will's mouth and mind both betray him, and force him to say something he was never planning on saying.

"It's about you."

Shit.  
Shit, shit, shit.

Now, he's got Hannibal looking back at him, looking surprised over his shoulder, and now he's walking back and standing in front of him, and now it's not a dream, and now he's got to tell him more, or he's going to leave. Actually, that seems ideal right about now. Why did Will stop him again?

"It is?" Hannibal prompts, "What is it about me?"  
"I... don't know." Will looks sheepish, reflecting physically how he's feeling emotionally.

It's Hannibal's turn to be quiet. He takes a moment for contemplation, and then crouches and asks, very professionally, "Do I frighten you, Will?"

Will instinctively shakes his head. "No. But these... hallucinations," he settles for the word, because it seems most applicable, and not like he's hopeful of anything, "they're different."

"Last time," Hannibal recollects, "you said certain things reminded you of Garrett Jacob Hobbs, until eventually it was everything. Wherever you went, whatever you did, what you heard, it all came back to him. Is it like that, Will? Are you seeing me everywhere, like I'm Hobbs?"

"No," Will says strongly, "not like you're Hobbs. They aren't bad, it's just... confusing. Wildly confusing, actually. You have no idea." He chuckles, but it's more uncomfortable than anything else. He rubs his forehead, confused as to why he's actually admitting this, then considers he's imagining things yet again, but then he knows he's not, because Hannibal's hand is on his, and he feels different.

Previously, he's been part of Will's imagination, and Will's never held his hand before, so he doesn't actually know how he feels. Now, though, with the new data, he can safely declare that Hannibal's hand feels nothing like how he'd imagined it would - hallucinated it would - because it's so soft, but so rough. He's got a firm grip on Will, like he wants him to never forget he's there, but it's gentle. Never did Will imagine Hannibal would be so... _like this_  with him. Friend, psychiatrist, other: this was unusual, but not unwelcome.

He held Hannibal's eye as his thumb began swiping not unlike the wiper of a car window screen in a tamed downfall, tempting him to do something, because Lord knows Will wasn't going to be able to. Just as with Garrett Jacob Hobbs, he had begun to lose sense of what was fiction and what was reality, and so he needed some evidence to show him he wasn't going crazy again.

It took a moment. Then, two. Hannibal kept looking at him, and Will admired how good he looked, disheveled by the morning. Most of all, his hair, with the significant difference in layers, looked fantastic, and the vindictive part of his subconscious willed him to reach out for it and run his fingers through it. Then, though, his mind was shut up, because Hannibal began leaning in for him, for his lips, and it's real. It's not in his mind this time, and he has absolutely no clue what to do.

In a blind haze, he manages to correctly capture Hannibal's lips in his own. Despite his initial hesitance making it a little awkward at first, he finally gets into it once he's assured he didn't misread any signals, and he's even the one to turn the tables on the wholesome kiss, making it something harder, faster, and seemingly much more enjoyable for the pair of them, given how Hannibal splayed a hand on his back and rocked him over onto it.

Breaking apart, Will couldn't help but laugh. It was a weird concept, how much had changed in mere moments. He decided not to dwell on it, and to stay with Hannibal, because if he woke up once more to a dark room and no Hannibal, only to find the whole thing was a delightful hallucination once again, he might just have a breakdown.

"As always, Doctor Lecter," Will mimicked a professional sounding conversation tone, "Your therapy had worked wonders."  
"I should hope so, Will," Hannibal responded, following his lead, "However, I would have to recommend you complete the recommended course of medicine, to ensure that the symptoms don't return."

Cheekily, Will grinned at him, "And is that your opinion as my psychiatrist or my lover?"  
"Both."

That was the answer he wanted to hear.

**Author's Note:**

> BOY two fics in one day, that's how you know this ship is taking over my life.
> 
> thanks for reading! hope you enjoyed & feel free to leave anything you want me to do in the comments :)


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